Marceline's Feast
by J. Lucy-Daisuke
Summary: Some times it's just the smallest things that mean the most to a person.


Continuing on with the "stories for series' I've never written before" palooza I'm going to be doing throughout November, God willing. I'm sure there's a bijillion of these stories out, now, but… Hey, I had fun, and maybe someone'll like it, too. : )

Adventure Time

Marceline's Feast

"Qwak."

"No, Gunter."

"…Qwak."

"Gunter, no."

"…Qwak Qwak."

"For the last time Gunter, NO!" and as the penguin jerked back, the Ice King sighed and patted it on the head. "Now I'm sorry Daddy yelled, sweetie, but there's a perfectly good reason why you can't go using his ninja throwing stars in the house. You'll poke your eye out and more importantly they're a collectible."

"Hello?" at the sound of a visitor, the Ice King was more shocked than delighted, grabbing Gunter and quickly bailing over the icy reclining chair in his living room.

"Now keep quiet, Gunter," the Ice King whispered, clutching on to the penguin's beak. "It could be those nice people we owe money to who want to break Daddy's legs in three separate places."

"Hello?" Marceline floated in without much effort, and sighed as she made touchdown on the cool blue floor… Not that the cold bothered her all that much. "…Guess that loon's not here…."

"Eh?! Oh, Marceline!" he stood up, picking up a lone lollipop, stuck behind the couch for ages, in his beard as he fumbled to stand up from behind the couch. He set Gunter down the ground, and the penguin, upon spying the lollipop, reached out its tongue in an attempt to lick it, only to give a disappointed grunt when the Ice King floated out of his reach and towards Marceline.

"Want a lollipop?" the Ice King plucked the sucker from his beard, and Marceline gave a cringe.

"Um… No. I'm cool. But thanks anyway…. I guess."

"So what brings you here?" the Ice King popped it in his own mouth, and Marceline tried to hide a gag, while Gunter shuffled away in disappointment, curling back behind the chair. "…You wanna see my mad cool collection of ninja stuff? Some smarty-pants earlier tried to break into it."

"No, you left this from our jam session," she held up a drum cymbal, and lurched back as the Ice King took her by the wrist.

"Come on, you gotta see this! I just purchased some nunchaku from the computer," he led her through an entryway, Marceline not getting enough words in to explain her lack of interest, but holding up the cymbal along the way.

"Lookit. Now… Watch this," he left her just outside of the doorway, and pulled out a pair of nunchaku from a box filled with packing peanuts. "Oh yeah, the ladies are gonna love this. Oh, yeah!"

After approximately three seconds of showing off the weapon, he smacked himself in the nose. Marceline gave a gasp and floated forward, but stopped as he held out an arm.

"No, no! I'm all right! …Just my pride…" he flinched as he touched his nose, and after glaring at the nunchaku a moment, he tossed them over his shoulder. "Well I know someone who's getting' a one-star review later. "

"Listen, dude… I just really wanted to give this back to you…."

"You wanna see my puppet show? The guys and I have been working on it. They're not ready for the big time theaters, yet, but I figure we can start out small… You know, those little holes in the wall where the cool kids go to drink coffee about talk about oppression and stuff."

"Not really… I just—"

"Oh!" he held both of his hands up to his mouth filled with sharp teeth. "Where are my manners?! You're probably hungry! Gunter! Gunter! You didn't offer her anything to drink, either, did you? Now she's going to think we're rude! Nice going, Gunter…"

"Qwak."

"Yeesh… This! This is why when we get people here it's just because they want to break my legs!"

"I've really gotta…"

"Gotta try my latest recipes!" again he took her by the wrist. Again, she couldn't find it in her to rebuff him like she usually did to anyone else who annoyed her… One flash of her true form, followed by a hiss, and they'd know better. But she couldn't do that with Simon.

And she found herself in the kitchen, the Ice King at the oven, his back turned to her, while she sat at the dining room table, a blank-faced penguin sitting across from her while the Ice King went about cooking and whistling simultaneously.

"I heard that the ladies love a guy who can cook," the Ice King looked over his shoulder to her. "So I've been practicing! Gunter's been trying my recipes!"

Marceline could have sworn that the penguin's desperate "qwak" translated into "run".

"I haven't been able to really cook for anyone else yet, though! Not for a while, though…"

"…Do you, like, remember the last time you cooked for someone?"

"Now why would I cook someone? I'm not that desperate for a hottie! Well… Let's not go too deep into that question," he chuckled, and wiped his hands on his pink apron. "All right, all set!"

And Marceline stared down, in disbelief, and the sound in the room all seemed to fade, slowly, with every sense save for sight, which was heightened, honed in on the presence of the ketchup-covered fries.

"…You don't like them. You hate them," the Ice King sighed, his shoulders slumping. This, after a moment, was joined by his hitting himself in the head with oven mitt cover fists. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"No! I… I like them! I guess it's just been a while since anyone's made them for me like this…" she answered. Gunter reached over, extending a flipper out to grab one of the fresh fries, and the Ice King was quick to immediately switch gears to directly a shout towards Gunter.

"Gunter, no! Marceline doesn't like it when anyone eats her fries!"

Her eyes went wide for a moment, and she wasn't sure if she gave a gasp, or how loud it was, but it was enough to make the Ice King and Gunter take notice. Feeling a blush coming on, she held one of the fries out to the penguin.

"Nah… I'm okay with sharing…. Really," she insisted, watching the penguin happily devour the fry, and giving a small laugh over it.

The Ice King sat across from her, his own plate of fries, and was silent for a moment, eating a few, "…So… This is like… What friends do, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I guess so."

"Just so you know, this isn't like a date or anything."

"W-What?! I know that!" she snapped.

"Good. 'Cause I've got my eyes on Berry Princess. She's a little… Well, meh… But, hey, some times the homely girls are grateful for what they get. Anyways, she's one of the slower runners out of them."

"…These are good," she nodded as they continued to eat together, choosing to ignore any and all implications or hints towards princess kidnapping. That was something best left for the professionals, not her.

The Ice King lit up, only to have his smile grow more as an idea hit him, "Hey! Wanna see my puppet show after this?"

"…Maybe another time," she answered.

"You're not cold at all? You're sure?"

"I'm fine," the little gray, pointed-eared girl clutched on to her plush bear while Simon sat across from her in the wreckage of the store. "…What're you doing?"

"Well, I figured you'd be hungry, so I could cook us something. I know I am," he answered, peeling more skin from one of the potatoes in the little stack he had formed on top of the newspaper. "And since we're here, I thought I'd make us a little treat."

"Oh, yeah? What is it? Tell me. Tell me, please?"

He gave a small chuckle. The sweet little voice was about the only thing that could drown out the voices and wails, anymore, although the images were getting more and more intense. Even as they sat together, he knew they were alone… Except they weren't. Strange, nightmarish creatures danced along the wreckage that had once been a fast food restaurant. It made him want to continue being protective of the little girl, although he knew the images weren't real. The only thing was… He was having a harder time, each day, convincing himself of this.

He'd managed to find a little cooking oil in the back of the store, and a dented pot, along with a pair of tongs. He heated up the oil, and dumped the sliced potatoes in, Marceline peering into the pot, curious at the hissing and popping noise.

She could barely wait as he pulled the slices of potatoes out once more, setting them on the newspaper. They'd have to wait for them to cool before the best part, though, he reassured her, and they spent a little time drawing in pictures in the dust of the building's floor before he produced a bottle of ketchup, complete with a cheering noise as he poured it over the fries.

"Now dig in," he instructed her, and she did so, cautiously at first. After one bite, hers eyes went wide, and she went for another, and another, not minding the ketchup staining around her face.

He'd been losing memories of the days before, but he wished, maybe even prayed, that this was one memory he'd be able to keep for himself.

"Eh? Hey, you okay?" he waved a hand in front of her face, and Marceline shook her head back into the present, into the then and now. "…We don't normally do staring into nothingness until eight here, but I guess if you want to get an early start on it…"

"I've gotta go, actually," she answered, standing from the dining room table.

"Aww… But I just got some awesome new video games in! Maybe another day?"

"Yeah… Guess we could."

"How about tomorrow?"

She heaved a small sigh, and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Someday, okay? Just… Someday."

"Well, all right… But just not Tuesday from three to six. That's when our stories are on. And give me a call in advance, so I can clean this dump up a little."

"Got it," she replied, and floating out of the dining room, and out of the living space on the side of the mountain, and away from the mountain. She'd be moving, tomorrow. Away from him, a little further out. She'd picked out just the spot, too. He'd be safe, and her feelings would be safe. Everyone would be safe.

Why was this the only instance where she bothered with "safe", though, she thought to herself.

She was crying again, now, she realized as she floated back towards her home in the cave, the home filled with a few small boxes of her belongings, enough for her to carry away in a single night. Maybe this was why. The crying never hurt, the other times.

She was crying, and it hurt more than ever, but at the same time, there was a small warmth in here—Whether it be from the fries, or something else.

And, looking down at her one hand, she still clutched on to the cymbal.

Maybe, on that someday, she'd be able to give it back to Simon.


End file.
